


Monochrome

by PhasicDreamer



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Bad Puns, Bestfriend Adrien? Crush Adrien?, Bestfriends Marinette and Alya, Chloe being a dick, Crime Fighting, Crushes, Curses, F/M, Fluff, Its Chat what do you expect, Mild Language, Oh, Sassy Koko, Sassy Reader, Sassy sass, Temporarily Unrequited Love, cute shit, puns, speaking of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-06-02 02:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6546517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhasicDreamer/pseuds/PhasicDreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And so the Cat caught the Bird and the Bird fell in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Paris

“Well Koko, here we are. Our new home,” you sigh, placing the boxes you had been carrying on the old wooden floor boards in the center of your room.

A small white head pokes out from the hood of your jacket, large eyes gazing around the empty room in a mix of curiosity and distaste. Your miraculous, a white dove with wings for arms, black legs, and a black beak, flutters out of his hiding place to better inspect your new room.

“Well, it's not much that's for sure,” Koko concludes, having just flown around the entirety of your 'smaller than a closet' room. “Don't know how we're gonna fit the dresser in, let alone the bed.”

“I'm sure we can figure something out,” you chuckle before getting to work.

It really wasn't much, but considering it was all your father could find and afford at the time you guess it could be worse. It was small, the sickly beige colored walls were peeling, the entire house was in desperate need of dusting and smelt of stale bread, but for now it was home and you would have to make do.

"Ever the optimist", the miraculous says with a playful eye roll, being the more witty and sarcastic of your little duo. You contemplate patting his little head in response, ruffling the feathers there, but decide against it since he hated when you messed with them. Koko hovers around your head as you stand in the middle of the room, hands on your hips as your eyes scan the vacant area, deciding on what to do first.

Figuring it was a bit too stuffy, you move towards the windows which are hidden by a hideous shade of yellow curtains. You make a mental note to replace them as soon as possible. Pushing the offending fabric aside your fingers find the latch, flipping it and flinging the windows open. They're not very big, only a little wider than shoulder width and tall enough so your head didn't brush the frame, but they do their job.

Your lungs sing at the fresh air, a cool breeze with the delicious aroma of fresh baked bread cooling your skin. You observe the view in awestruck wonder, the beauty of the City of Love taking your newly gained breath away. You may not live in a very rich part of the city, but the vividly colored buildings, the many unique and interesting pedestrians below, and the distant figure of the Eiffel Tower made your weak living conditions worth it.

You sigh, wanting nothing more than to transform and explore the wonderful world of Paris, but the violent hacking of your miraculous draws you back to the task at hand. Pulling away from the windowsill you give the tiny being an amused look which he matches with his own peeved one when you see the state he's in.

The kwami's flawless white body is now an ashy gray, dust and dirt sticking to his feathers. He stays planted on the floor next to your now open closet door, wings crossed and not happy about the situation in the slightest, but you on the other hand found it absolutely hilarious.

“I didn't know my miraculous was a pigeon, and here I thought I was Ivory Dove, not Miss Carrier Pigeon,” you snicker behind your hand, your sides straining from containing rambunctious laughter.

“I'm a dove, not a filthy pigeon! And I just wanted to see if there was anything in there,” he huffs, scowling at your approaching form still shaking from your snickering.

Kneeling before the disgruntled bird you scoop him into your palms, not caring for the grime that now coated your hands. Bringing him to eye level you give him a teasing smile although he remains unamused, his beak pouting. “Aw, you know I was just teasing Kokie. No other bird is nearly as beautiful as you,” you coo, nuzzling your cheek into his, hoping your adorable pet name might cheer him up.

It has the required affects and he soon returns your embrace, purposely smearing dust on your cheek in the process which is a victory you'll allow him to have. “You've got that right,” he trumps forth proudly, puffing his chest out with a smirk.

You pull away slightly, your necklace dangling in the space between the two of you. It's a simple silver feather on a black rope chain, given to you by your grandmother who found it buried in the back of her antique store. You accepted the gift graciously, not knowing that the harmless looking piece of jewelry would change your life completely.

“Come on, let's get you cleaned up. We still have a lot to do before dad gets back with the rest of the boxes,” you say, carrying the groaning kwami to the bathroom directly across the hall.

“I don't wanna work,” he complains, withering around in your palms as if in pain from the very thought.

Your miraculous, on top of being witty, sarcastic, and prideful, is extremely lazy.

“I'll give you raisins,” you sing-song as you begin filling up the sink with warm water and placing the filthy bird in it.

“Really? The big box?” Koko chirps, perking up instantly. You nod, chuckling as he bathes happily.

Luckily your miraculous is also incredibly easy to bribe.


	2. Midnight Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're feeling a little down, but nothing a flight can't fix.

“There, all done,” you place the last of your things on the shelf above your bed, stepping off the mattress to admire your hard work.

Thanks to your smart thinking and optimism you managed to fit all of your belongs into your cupboard sized room, much to your miraculous's amazement.

Your bed sits opposite the door in the corner next to the closet, a small bedside dresser beside it with an alarm clock and a couple personal photos on top. The dresser, which Koko was certain wouldn't fit, occupies the space on the other side of the closet right next to the window who's god-awful curtains were the first things you replaced.

Beside the window is a bookcase who's height made it a real challenge to squeeze in, now stands proudly in the corner displaying all your trashy romance novels and knickknacks.

A few posters of your favorite bands and shows hang from the bland colored walls, a vain attempt to hide the hideous shade of paint. In the center of the room and the only sign of carpeting is a round, fraying rug that despite it's rustic appearance serves to be a much needed fluffy relief from the cold hard wood floors.

And finally, making a complete loop around the room, is a worn down wooden table beside your door and on it rests your prehistoric computer and a single lamp with a bulb on the verge of blowing.

Yes, it's truly beginning to feel like home.

You stretch, groaning as your stiff spine cracks in protest, a rush of relief washing over you and drawing a blissful sigh from your lips. God, that's the last time you do so much heavy lifting in one day.

“You almost done yet?” Koko mummers from his position curled up on the rug, a box of raisins open and strewn about next to him. You roll your eyes at the kwami.

Even after agreeing to help out, receiving the biggest box of raisins you have as collateral, he still managed to leave most of the work to you.

“Yes, you lazy bird. The bed's made up if you wanna move your nap off the floor,” you say, dropping down to scoop the remaining dried fruit back into the container, saving them for later.

You're running low on your raisin supply and until you find the time to go out and buy more you can't afford to waste any precious kwami fuel.

Koko gives out a loud yawn, stretching and rubbing the sleep from his eyes before groggily fluttering to the pillows. He drops unceremoniously onto the plush cushions, nestling in but doesn't return to his nap.

“Nah, I think I'll skip the nap this time. I'm looking forward to stretching my wings and seeing the sights too ya know,” Koko throws his wings behind his head, relaxing into his soft throne.

Placing the half-full box of dehydrated grapes onto the bedside table you look out the still open window, the cool night time breeze filling you with the sudden urge to just abandon all responsibilities to freedom.

But, unfortunately you have more self control than that.

You give your bird buddy a tired, but enthusiastic smile, “It's late, I'm exhausted, and I start school tomorrow, but I think I can spare one flight.”

“Great, say the words and we'll blow this joint,” Koko stands, cracking his finger-feathers and rolling his neck in prep for transformation.

“Sorry Kokie, there's still one more thing I have to do before we can just duck out of here,” you explain, walking towards the door.

The kwami shrugs, falling back into the comfort of his pillow fortress, “Don't take too long, I might fall asleep again.”

“I'll be quick like a bunny. Or a carrier pigeon in this case,” you tease, barely catching his noise of disgust as the door closes behind you.

The hallway is dark and cluttered with unpacked boxes making it difficult to worm your way to the end of the hall where the door is cracked, light and the vicious clacking of a keyboard streaming out.

After much stumbling, toe stubbing, cursing, and a quick pit stop to pet your father's calico cat Sebastian who was lounging on top of one of the boxes, you push open the door to your father's room/office.

It's in similar disarray as the hallway, and most likely the rest of the house, the only things set free from their cardboard prisons being your father's work desk.

Onto top of it is a slightly newer version of your dinosaur of a computer, an abused keyboard and mouse, and a printer sputtering on it's last breath of life. And hunched over the keys, fingers typing mercilessly away and glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose, is your father.

Careful to not completely derail his train of thought you lightly tap on the door frame to get his attention, “Hey, dad?”

Jerking himself into proper posture he spins his swivel chair to you, the dark bags under his eyes a sharp contrast to the bright grin he sends you, “Darling! I was so immersed in my work I didn't even notice you there. Is there something you need?”

You shake your head, walking further into the room, “No, I just wanted to tell you I finished unpacking my room. How's everything coming along in here?”

Your father sighs, looking around at his mess of a studio, “Not as well as I had hoped. I was in the middle of organizing my work space when a sudden spark of inspiration hit me. You know how I am when I'm grabbed by an idea.”

You nod, knowing how he is when lost in his work, “Don't worry dad, I get it. How about this, you make up a bed or something and promise not too stay up too late and I'll help you finish unpacking tomorrow when I get home from school. Deal?”

He smiles, pulling you into a tight hug, “Deal. What would I do without you, my precious little angel.”

You shrug, your arms wound around his midsection, “Probably die of starvation or sleep deprivation.”

His form shakes with laughter, “Right you are, sweetheart, right you are.”

Pulling away he squeezes your shoulder with a tired tilt of the lips, “Thank you again for being so understanding this whole time. I know it must be hard moving away from home and I appreciate your support through all of this. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

You pat his hand reassuringly, “It's no problem dad, I know you're just trying your best and that's all I could ever ask of you.”

The grown man who's raised you since birth looks to be on the verge of tears at your words.

You're quickly pulled into another bone crushing hug, “What did I ever do to deserve such an amazing daughter? I promise you sweetheart, once I get my book onto the best selling list I promise to buy a nice, big house right next to the Eiffel Tower, just for you.”

You struggle to rub his back, your arms being pretty much pinned to your sides, “T-Thanks dad.”

“Well,” he starts after a moment of basking in the father-daughter moment, “off to bed with you, you have school tomorrow! How exciting is that?”

“Thrilling,” you say with not nearly the same level of enthusiasm. He doesn't catch the dip in your tone, instead leaning down to place a fatherly kiss to your forehead that you return with a daughterly kiss to his cheek.

Spinning you around he nudges you to the door, “Go on now, you have to be up bright and early! Goodnight darling, sweet dreams.”

“Night dad, remember not to stay up too late okay?” you reprimand, closing the door with a click that muffles the 'I'll try!' your dad responds with.

You chuckle at your father's antics. You adore the dorky man, despite his workaholic tendencies.

Weaving your way back through the maze of cardboard, patting Sebastian as you pass, you stumble into your room emotionally and physically exhausted.

You of course expect your miraculous to notice your state of drainage immediately upon entering and within the blink of an eye he's in your face, fluttering around in concern.

“Hey now, you feeling okay? You don't look so hot,” he questions, patting your hand comfortingly when you cup his small body in your palms.

Slumping against the door you sigh, “It's nothing. I'm just tired from the move.”

Koko nods in understanding, not needing any more elaboration to know the extent of that sentence.

He's been with you long enough to know 'tired from the move' means you're exhausted from not only from having to lug heavy boxes up and down stairs all day, but having to move away from your entire life so your father can pursue his writing career, leaving everything you know and love behind.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” the dove kwami asks, more than willing to listen to all your woes. He may seem like a jerk at times, but he truly does care about you.

You shake your head, eyes drawn to the window. Freedom.

“Actually, I kinda want to forget about it for a little while.”

Koko follows your gaze, his mind coming to a similar conclusion and he grins, “Flying?”

You break the solemn atmosphere with a nod, “ Flying.”

Walking towards your escape from reality, the curtains brushing against you invitingly, you throw your arms out wide. The cool metal of your necklace brushes against your chest and Koko hovers near, waiting for you to say the words needed to pull him into it.

You take a deep breath, the chilly air of Paris intoxicating, and that's all it takes for you to exhale the words, “Okay Koko, transform me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna try a post a new chapter every week, but since I'm working on multiple works at once I'll only update one story or one-shot. Gotta space my time and creativity out, hope you guys understand.


	3. The City of Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You steal one last glance at the cat on top of the Eiffel Tower, committing those jade eyes to memory.

The feeling of wind rushing through your hair as you soar above the sleeping city of Paris is exhilarating.

Stars twinkle overhead, dancing just out of reach of light pollution and the moon watches over everything from its half crescent throne in the center of the sky. And below, much like the undisturbed heavens glows the City of Lights.

Even when resting Paris still manages to be the liveliest place you've ever seen.

Admiring the breathtaking scenery from your birds-eye view you still try to let lose, throwing in a few aerial tricks during your sightseeing.

Diving through another cloud you erupt into rambunctious laughter, your starch white bodysuit soaked. The rational part of your brain tells you to get out of the cold before you catch hypothermia, the other part tells you to barrel into another cloud.

You decide that the rational part of your brain is a loser, cutting through the next cloud you see and making sure there's not a single dry spot left on you.

Giggles consume you again as you twist and twirl among the stars, the moisture on your faux wings making them shimmer like the celestial beings.

Being this high above the world, no worries or responsibilities, the wind stinging your cheeks and turning your hair into a tangled nest, you feel like your own constellation.

Finally, when there's no air left in your lungs and you're reduced to nothing but a wheezing, grinning mess, you level out and fly horizontal to the buildings. Being the ever vigilant hero, you make sure to keep an eye and ear out for trouble.

Paris may be bright, but it's not without its shadows.

Speaking of which, you could have sworn you saw something move across that roof.

Squinting, you barely manage to catch movement hopping from structure to structure, moving at an alarming speed.

“No regular thief moves that fast,” you mumble, keeping track of the figure as best you can from such a distance away.

You're thankful for your vantage point, knowing there's no way whatever it is can see you from here. Then again, who'd think to look up when checking to see if they're being tailed?

You follow the figure as they slink their way through the snoozing city, avoiding all possible light sources, preferring to stick to the shadows. It's then you realize their destination, the daunting metal landmark stretching higher into the sky than even yourself.

You've always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower, just not while you're chasing a suspicious, possibly dangerous figure.

You’re still quicker and the figure runs out of tower before you run out of sky. You observe from a safe distance as they adjust themselves at the very peak, proceeding to simply stare out at the world below.

A fellow sight seer, maybe?

You decide to keep your presence unknown, lest you spook the content shadow. You did just track them half way across the city, that would make anybody a little bit wary.

You sit in a comfortable silence, the other party completely unaware to your existence, but the both of you bask in the beauty that is the City of Lights together.

It's still too dark out, and with the figure dressed in shadow you can't make out a gender, but boy do they have the brightest set of gold locks you've ever seen. You wonder if it feels as soft as it looks.

Again the rational part of you is saying to just fly away now, before they notice you and you have to give an awkward explanation on why you followed them in the first place.

“Hey, sorry about that, I thought you were up to something illegal so I tailed you in case I had to kick your ass,” didn't sound like a very appeasing answer.

But the other part, the part Ivory Dove is more inclined to listen to, is urging you to go up to them and introduce yourself. You don't know anyone here and it would be nice to meet someone else who also goes to outrageous extents to appreciate the scenery.

And judging by the black suit and cat ears, you're guessing they have a miraculous too. You've never met anyone else who shares this gift and you're a little more than elated at the idea of having someone to fight alongside.

Either that or they take the saying 'cat burglar' too far.

Whilst in the midst of your internal debate you fail to notice how close you'd gotten to a neighboring satellite antenna, only realizing your mistake when your wing knocks into it.

The loud metallic ring startles the figure and for a second you think they might fall off the tower, but then they spin toward you and your breath hitches.

The richest shade of emerald holds your gaze and you find yourself easily getting lost in them. You can't make out any defining features other than glowing green eyes behind an ebony mask, but it's all you need to become transfixed.

No one should be allowed to have eyes that gorgeous, it's positively criminal and you rethink whether or not what they're doing is illegal.

But the sudden beeping coming from the antenna beside you, the red light on top of it blinking rapidly, has you freaking out. You don't know what it means, but it can't be good.

Panicked, you give a powerful flap of your wings that whips a few strands of the figure's golden hair back and take off across the sky. You steal one last glance at the cat on top of the Eiffel Tower, committing those jade eyes to memory.

The beating of your wings drowns out the figure as they call out to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who could this mysteries cat person be I wonder? Also shout out to anyone who noticed the cat puns I peppered in, I couldn't resist.
> 
> Edited.


	4. First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your first day at a new school.

            The excessive blaring of your alarm clock rouses you from the land of blissful sleep, a tidal wave of pain slamming into you the moment you reach consciousness.

            You groan, not making any moves to fully commit to waking up because that meant _moving_ , something your mind and body protested vehemently against. Although, the screeching of the alarm makes a very compelling argument.

            Turning over proves to be the most challenging part of your day so far, but you manage to swing your arm over and nail the clock right on its annoying little head, silencing it. Prying one eyelid open you read the blurry, red numbers.

            You estimate you have 'bout thirty minutes before class starts, plenty of time to get ready.

            But resting your eyes for another five minutes couldn't hurt.

            Staying vigilante to not drift off, your mind wanders to last night. It's useless trying to get those eyes out of your head, you already tried, but it was all in vain. Those eyes that sparkled like priceless jewels yet held all the vastness of an evergreen forest followed you to your very dreams.

            The image of the shadow, crouched like a feline on its perch, piercing stare boring into your own, would stay forever implanted in your mind. You aren't complaining though. It isn't a bad picture to have stuck in your head for the rest of eternity.

            You only wish you had gotten to see more of the figure's face, you can only assume by the messy golden hair that framed their face that they are extremely beautiful.

            “Get uuuuuup already. I'm huuuuuungry.” Koko groans from his small bed in the cracked drawer of the bedside table. Poking his tiny feathered head out her stares groggily at you.

            Neither of you are very good morning people.

            “Jus' give me like, two more minutes,” you slur, rolling over to try and postpone the inevitable for as long as possible. You know you can't stay in bed forever, but you can't deny how appealing it sounds.

            But it seems that a certain kwami refused to let you even fantasize, “Cooooome oooooon, I'm staaaaaarving.”

            You let all the air in your lungs out with a heavy sigh, lifting your aching body slowly off the bed. The floor is freezing beneath your bare feet and you yelp, quickly pulling them back. Of _course_ the heating doesn't work.

            Placing your feet back down, fighting the urge to tuck them back into the warmth of the covers, you finally manage to pull yourself out of bed.

            You immediately regret it.

            There's not a single part of your body that isn't sore. Every bone shook with the effort to hold you up, every muscle stung like a branding iron was being put to them with the slightest movement, and every part of your heart and soul were miserable.

            Turning over was challenge number one, actually getting ready for the day and being a productive human being is challenge number two.

            Dressing was a slow and extremely painful act, after finally getting pants on you decide to just throw a jacket over your sleep shirt. No way were you going to be able to lift your arms over your head, let alone while tugging clothing on and off.

            Shoes come next, an equally as tedious task in your current state of body. Your fingers are shaking by the time you tie the last lace.

            Rising onto shaking legs, foot wear now secure, you make your way to the bathroom to use the facilities. Wash your face, brush your hair, teeth, pee and all the little things you usually do to be presentable to the public.

            Koko pestered you through the entirety of your painful morning routine with the same annoying whine, “I'm dyyyyying, and I need foooooood.”

            “If you're so hungry why don't you get up and get the raisins literally right above you,” you finally snap, riffling through the folders on your table, stuffing the things you'll need in your bag.

            Turning his head, Koko stars longingly up at the box, but makes no moves to leave his cozy little drawer. “It's so far away though,” he groans pathetically.

            Slinging the messenger bag onto your shoulder you glance at the time, your patience running out along with the time you have to make it to school before class starts.

            “I bet a pigeon wouldn't be so lazy and get their own raisins,” it's a low blow, you know, but it does the job. Koko immediately shoots out of the drawer, capturing the box in one foul swoop.

            “Yeah right, pigeons are the laziest of birds and am _not_ a pigeon,” he trumps forth, a hint of superiority hovering over his head as he cracks the box open and pops a dried grape in his beak.

            “Yes, yes, pigeons are lame and doves are way better now let's _go_ ,” you finish his speech hurriedly, snatching the kwami out of the air and stuffing him into the front pocket of your bag. Koko yelps at the manhandling, throwing you a few choice curses, but you're too busy sprinting out the door to listen to him.

            Half way down the stairs you stutter to a stop, spinning around on your toe and back up. It's excruciating to say the least, but you grit your teeth through the incline.

            You run up to your father's door, dodging and knocking some boxes over along the way, ignoring the worrisome noise from a box marked 'FRAGILE' that you just tipped over in your hurry to crack open the door.

            You sigh at the sight of your father passed out across his keyboard, the word document still open and probably unsaved on the desktop before him. Loud, chainsaw like snores follow his even breathing, a trail of drool connecting his mouth to the desk.

            Swiftly you tip-toe into the room, reaching over his steadily rising and falling chest to save and close out his work.

            You smile warmly, making a note to scold him for staying up all night later, and nudge him awake. He snorts, only barely becoming coherent as he blinks wearily.

            No words are exchanged as you help him into the small cot he set up in the corner of the room next to a window similar to yours, but with a disappointing view of another building. Tucking him in, much like the way he used to do with you, you lean down and place a soft kiss to his wrinkled forehead.

            “Goodnight dad, I'm heading to school,” you whisper. He's still not conscious enough to give an intelligent sentence, but he mumbles out what you discern is 'Love you, sweetheart.'

            “Love you too, dad,” you return the sentiment, closing the door softly as you leave.

~ * ~ 

            “T-that was close,” you huff, hands bracing themselves on your knees as you catch your breath.

            By sprinting the entire way you had barely manage to arrive on time, the bell ringing as soon as you crossed onto school grounds.

            Taking a moment to compose yourself, smoothing down your hair and clothes, you blend into the flow of students as they make their way to class. A few spare you curious glances, probably not recognizing you and pegging you as a new kid, but they all continue about their business.

            Pulling your schedule from your pocket you look over its contents, locating your first class then searching the crowded halls for the door that matched. After about five minutes of walking and still no classroom you sigh, admit defeat to yourself, and gather the courage to ask a student for help.

            You first spot a blonde haired girl chatting with her friend next to a group of lockers. She had her back to you as you hesitantly approached, tapping her on the shoulder to get her attention. The blonde turns to you, a scowl on her make-up coated face.

            You swallow your regret on having picked her, out of everyone in the crowd, to ask for help.

            “Uh, s-sorry to bother you, but I'm new here and I was wondering if-” she scoffs before you can even finish your sentence, disgust burning in her eyes as she glares at you.

            “And what gives someone like _you_ the right to approach someone like _me_?” the girl sneers, clearly judging you by your appearance.

            You take a tentative step back, clasping tightly to the strap of your bag as you stutter, “I-I'm sorry, I-I just-”

            “If you're so sorry than stop bothering me, I have way more important things to do than to talk to every lower level that wants my attention,” she snuffs you out with a flick of her hair, twirling on her heel and stalking off with her ginger friend scurrying to catch up.

            You stand there dumbly, too shocked to do or say anything. Never in your life had you met someone so blatantly rude and just her voice left a bitter taste in your mouth.

            You can't believe she actually called you _lower level_. As if you weren't even worth the dirt under her feet let alone a second of her precious time.

            After that experience you refused to approach anyone else, afraid you'd only get the same treatment, and decide to just find the class on your own. The halls had begun to clear as students filed into their designated rooms, leaving you panicking and still trying to find your first period.

            You take a sharp turn around a corner and consequently into some poor soul, barreling into them and sending the both of you to the floor in a mess of papers and limbs.

            “Ow...” you groan, sitting up and rubbing at the dull throb in your head. God your body is not happy with you.

            A similar noise comes from in front of you, the boy you just bulldozed into massaging his golden hair, eyes screwed shut in pain.

            You begin to gather his discarded papers with frantic hands, face flushed with embarrassment as you apologize, “O-Oh my god, I am so sorry! I-I wasn't looking where I was going, I'm so s-sorry!”

            He quills you panic by placing his hand atop yours on the book you just reached for, his voice soothing as he speaks, “Hey, it’s okay, accidents happen. No harm done.”

            Sighing in relief you go to thank the kind stranger when your breath catches in your throat, the emerald gaze that haunted your dreams staring back at you.

            The image of the black cat flashes in your mind before fading into the boy with his brows furrowed in concern, “Are you alright?”

            You snap out of your trance with a shake of your head, the picture disappearing completely. Snatching your hand away you fall onto your rear, trying to put some distance between the two of you in hopes it would calm your racing heart.

            “I-I'm f-fine! J-Just fine!” you stumble, struggling to break out of the spell those rich eyes cast on you.

            “ _It's just your imagination,_ ” you repeat to yourself, “ _there's no way this is the same person._ ”

            “I'm glad,” he smiles and you can't seem to get your lungs to work.

            This boy, with his golden hair swept to the side, soft skin, tender smile, and the type of eyes no one is likely to forget, was surely going to be the death of you.

            He breaks your staring contest, returning to gathering the rest of his discarded school work and you're quick to hand him the ones you had collected in a messy stack. He thanks you, taking them and neatly arranging them under his arm as he stands, offering you a hand up.

            You allow him to pull you to your feet, quickly taking your hand back with ruby cheeks.

            “T-Thank you,” you mumble quietly, shuffling nervously as your eyes dart around to avoid his.

            “It's no problem. I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you new here? I haven't seen you around before,” he asks politely, quite the contrast to the only other person you've interacted with.

            “I am actually, I uh, was just looking for my class w-when, well...” you trail off, still unsure how to talk to the individual and wanting nothing more than to escape this conversation.

            It's then you remember your schedule, patting down your jacket and pants but not finding the paper.

            Your moments from panicking when the boy holds out the missing sheet with a knowing grin,“I think you dropped this, it was mixed in with all of my things.”

            Thanking him, probably for the tenth time in the past minute, you go to stuff it safely in your bag when he stops you, “Actually, do you mind if I...”

            He gestures to the schedule and you look from it to him before slowly handing it back, “Sure.”

            He hums as he read over it, “Looks like we share the same homeroom.”

            “Really?” you ask, actually surprised.

            Passing the paper to you he nods, “Yeah. I was just heading there if you'd like for me to walk you.”

            Seeing how there was no way you were going to be able to find it on your own you accept, falling into step beside him as he walks down the hall you just came from.

            After a few moments of silence he turns to you, “You know, I never got your name.”

            You introduce yourself shyly, those emerald orbs sparkling as he rolls your name off his tongue, and you'd be lying if you said didn't love the sound of it.

            “It's nice to meet you, I'm Adrien Agreste.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, where am I supposed to go with this?


	5. Friendship Is Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making friends is easy, but saving the city?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone who's read and commented on this fic, and I especially want to thank those special few people who encouraged me to keep writing this. It's because of you that I've managed to find my inspiration to work on not only this story, but others as well.
> 
> I wouldn't be anywhere without all your kind and lovely words and I can only hope I do this story justice. Again, thank you so much and I hope to hear all sorts of feed back in the comments. Love ya!
> 
> Just a heads up: I made an edit to chapter 3 so please go read that or sometl things won't make sense. Thanks.

The walk to class was filled with friendly chatter and you found it surprisingly easy to open up to Adrien.

He asked about what made you move to Paris, what your old town was like, and if you were enjoying the city so far. In turn you learned that he used to move around a lot, but Paris was where he was born and his favorite place in the city was the Eiffel Tower.

You tried not to think of the black cat when he mentioned it.

“Well, this is it,” Adrien stops in front of a wooden door, one you passed by early, and if you didn't have such charming company you would've smacked yourself.

“Thanks so much Adrien, I never would've found it on my own,” you joke, secretly wishing the hall was just a little bit longer so the two of you could talk some more.

He grins, jade eyes crinkling at the edges, “Well, then it's a good thing you bumped into me.”

You laugh to cover the weird way your face flushes and heart races, “Yeah, I guess so.”

There's a beat of awkward silence where you refuse to make eye contact before Adrien clears his throat and jabs his thumb at the classroom, “We should probably...”

“Oh yeah! Let's do that, yeah...” you squeak and while his back is turned you actually smack your forehead. You hope he didn't notice you making an absolute fool of yourself.

He holds the door open for you, seriously was this boy born a gentleman?, and you nod your head in thanks as you pass. The sudden snap of a ruler makes the both of you jump and you turn to face the stern glare of an older woman.

“How nice of you to finally join us, Mr. Agreste,” the woman jeers, not paying you any attention as you shrink behind the boy in mention.

Adrien chuckles nervously and scratches the back of his head, “Sorry Miss Bustier, I was just showing our new student around.”

Your human cover side steps, revealing you to the teacher who brightens immediately, “Ah, yes, I nearly forgot we had a new student joining us today. Please, please, present yourself to the class.”

You reluctantly allow her to tug you to the front of the class, suddenly aware of all the eyes that had been watching the entire exchange. Adrien leaves to take his seat beside a dark skinned boy with a red cap and you struggle to keep from hyperventilating.

You hate being the center of attention, Ivory Dove is the one who loves having an audience and right now you are not her.

In your panic your eyes lock onto Adrien's kind ones, and had he not been mouthing 'Breathe' you probably would've forgotten how to.

You nod, screwing your eyes shut with a shaky breath, and try your best impression of confidence. All you manage to choke out is a feeble introduction, but you pray that they heard you and won't ask you to repeat yourself.

Thankfully Miss Bustier nods and points to the back desk in the same isle as Adrien, “Well it's very nice to meet you and I look forward to having you in my class. Go ahead and take a seat and we'll continue today's lesson.”

You waste no time in bolting, glad to finally be out of the spotlight. You glance at Adrien as you pass and he gives you a grin and thumbs up, good job. You return it with a tentative smile.

Settling down in the empty seat closest to the isle you place your bag in your lap, breathing a sigh of relief as everyone's attention is drawn to the blackboard. Well, almost everyone's.

“Hey, new girl,” startled, you look towards the desk in front of you, a girl already staring back.

She's very pretty with her dark skin, chocolate eyes, brown hair with fiery red tips, and square glasses perched on the end of her nose.

She arches a brow, the mole right above it moving too, and whispers so as to not be caught by the teacher, “It's nice to see some new faces around here. I'm Alya.”

You mutter your name back, happy that Adrien isn't the only kind person at this school, and she gives you a friendly smirk.

“Shh, Miss Bustier is gonna hear you!” another harsher whisper comes from the girl beside Alya.

Her jet black pigtails bounce as she throws you an apologetic look over her shoulder, she wasn't actually angry, she just didn't want to get caught talking during class.

Alya rolls her eyes, tilting her head towards the fair skinned girl, “This jitter bug here is Marinette.”

This time Marinette risks turning more fully in her seat and you take note of her deep blue gaze. They're nearly as piercing as Adrien's and the black cat's.

“Hi,” she mummers with a small tilt of her lips.

“Hi,” you return just as quietly.

Alya claps her hands softly enough that only the three of you notice, “Great, now that awkward introductions are out of the way we can start being friends.”

You eyes widen in surprise, “Really?”

There was no way making friends was this easy.

Marinette nods, “Really.”

Apparently it is.

“Oh,” you state dumbly, “okay.”

“Awesome,” Alya cheers, turning to write something on her notebook than tearing it out and handing it to you, “that's all my contact info. Text me sometime, we'll hang out and get to know each other more.”

You accept the slip of paper, slipping it into your pocket before hurriedly writing down your own information and giving it to the girl. She snatches it from your hand and tucks it into her bag.

Alya nudges the girl beside her who seemed to have spaced out while staring at something in front of her. Marinette starts, cheeks flushed, “What?”

Alya points to you, “She needs your numbers, girl.”

“Oh! Right, right, let me just,” Marinette fumbles with her notes, hastily scribbling something in the corner before ripping it off. She hands it to you sheepishly, “Here.”

You thank her and add it to the growing stash of papers in your jacket, repeating the process of exchanging your own info.

Marinette's fingers barely brush the paper when the crack of wood on wood shocks the three of you.

For the second time that day you're met by the terrifying glare of your teacher, “Not even thirty minutes into your first day and you're already passing notes.”

The class collectively snickers, save for your few friends, and your face burns with shame, “Sorry ma'am.”

“Since your new here I'll let it slide, but don't let me catch you doing it again,” Miss Bustier scolds, quickly rounding on the other two girls, “But I expected better from the two of you. If I see you passing notes one more time while I'm teaching it'll be detention for all three of you.”

She returns to the lesson and you sink further into your chair. How embarrassing.

Alya's sudden laughter is almost as startling as the teacher's stern voice and both you and Marinette look at her incredulously. And then the both of you are laughing too, trying and failing at keeping quiet.

“Girls!”

~*~

“Oh my God, you should have seen your face! You were so red!” Alya wheezed beside you, hands clutching her stomach as she laughed.

“Oh yeah? Well Marinette looked straight-up petrified!” you laugh, bumping said girl with your shoulder.

She groans in dismay, but she's still smiling, “Come on guys, we were like this close to getting detention! Besides, Alya looked like she was about the cry when Miss Bustier started yelling at us.”

“Yeah, from laughing at your dumb faces.”

You never thought walking home from school could be this fun, but here you are, laughing like you haven't in ages. It felt nice to have friends.

Speaking of friends, you're a little disappointed you didn't get to talk to Adrien after class. You started to approach him with every intention to, but the dark skinned boy from early dragged him out the door before you could.

It left you feeling the tiniest bit dejected, but you decided not to let it bother you too much. Hopefully you'd run into him tomorrow, maybe not so literally next time.

"Hey, I think that ice cream shop finally opened on the other side of town,” Alya commented causing Marinette's eyes to light up.

“No way, the one with over a hundred flavors?” the ebony haired girl gasps, absolutely giddy just thinking about all the different combinations of ice cream.

Alya chuckles with a nod, “That's the one. We should totally go sometime.”

Your heart swells at the idea, you haven't gotten to go out with friends in what feels like forever.

“I'd love to!” you squeal, coughing to cover how eager you sound. “I mean, I haven't gotten out much since moving, it would be nice to see the sights.”

Alya throws an arm over your shoulder, the limb tugging you into her side, “As loyal Parisians it's our duty to show you everything Paris has to offer. How does ice cream and a tour sound, say, Saturday afternoon?”

You have to restrain yourself from jumping with joy, “Sounds perfect.”

Marinette twirls to walk backwards in front of you, hands locked behind her, “Great! So I guess we'll just meet up at-”

An explosion from a couple buildings down shakes the ground beneath the three of you and Alya squeezes your arm to keep from falling. You look up, shocked at the sight before you.

A boy no older than eleven, wielding a gargantuan metal baseball bat more than thrice his size that oozes black smoke and dressed in some demented version of a baseball uniform, grins as he destroys everything in sight. People are running, screaming, trying to get away, and the boy just continues to reek havoc on anything and everything.

You're frozen, incapable of doing anything but watch. You're used to taking down thieves and criminals, but this, you've never seen anything like this.

“Look, it's Chat Noir!” Alya's sudden shout shakes you from your stupor in time to see a sleek black body ram themselves into the boy, knocking the kid to the ground.

Your breath catches in your throat when you spot cat ears nestled in a familiar head of gold, “You-!”

Marinette's hands on both your and Alya's backs starts to push you away, “Come on, we have to get out of here!”

And the citizen part of you agrees, yeah we should most defiantly run, but the hero part starts to argue, “But-”

“No way! Wherever Chat Noir is, Ladybug is sure to follow! I've got to get this for my blog!” Alya declares, shoving off Marinette's insistent hand and running back towards the battle field.

Marinette shouts her name, turning for only a moment to order you to get as far away from here as possible, before rushing after her.

The citizen in you screams for you to listen, but Ivory Dove is already looking for a safe place to transform.

Once you spot an alley way you make a break for it, dodging escaping Parisians and clutching your bag close. You throw yourself behind the nearest dumbest, peeking towards the street to make sure no one followed you, before opening your bag.

Koko immediately flies out, wings above his head as he stretches out his sore feathers. He rolls his neck with a groan, “Man, it's been forever since I got to be relevant again.”

“Come on Koko, we've got work to do,” you say, dropping your bag at your feet and pulling your necklace from inside your shirt.

You square your shoulders, eyes burning as you command, “Wings up!”

The kwami cracks his finger like feathers, beak stretched in a grin, “Finally, some action.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I'm gonna be straight with you guys, which is something I don't do often I'm hella pan, and say I've never actually seen Miraculous Ladybug. I know the basic premise of it and I have several wiki articles open when I write, but if I ever get a detail wrong please feel free to correct me.
> 
> That being said, this story won't be following anything canonical and is based solely off what I think and want to happen. Some characters may be portrayed wrong and for that I'm sorry, I try to be as accurate as possible based on what I already know about them. If you don't like any of what I just said, I'm sorry, but this story probably isn't for you.
> 
> Maybe one day I'll get around to watching it, but for now I'll just enjoy the adorable characters, cool powers, and awesome concept.


	6. Paris' New Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not hard to track the fight, you simply follow the path of destruction.

It's not hard to track the fight, you simply follow the path of destruction.

Seriously, how did Paris afford to repair itself after every battle? Judging by what Alya said, these type of things happen often enough that it's pretty much routine at this point.

Well, it's a good thing you're the type that loves breaking routine.

You eventually end up at a small little league stadium on the edge of the city, the battle raging just below.

The little baseball player, who you've dubbed 'Bitter Batter' swings his club with impeccable accuracy, catching the cat themed hero in the side. Chat Noir, you think Alya called them.

You wince as their body is flung across the field, the impact of their back against the dirt looking quite painful. Their red and black spotted companion, a figure you've never seen before but assume to be the 'Ladybug' Alya spoke of, calls to them.

Chat struggles to stand, still trying to shake off the collision, and fails to notice as Bitter Batter charging towards them. He raises his bat to strike, but with a flick of Lady's wrist they snare his weapon and pulls.

That's your cue.

Your fingers curl instinctively around the cool metal resting between your shoulder blades, the weight familiar in your palms. The spear shines in the sunlight as you draw your arm back, eyes carefully lining up the shot. And with the click of your tongue you launch the weapon.

Bulls-eye.

Batter stumbles in surprise, the spear embedded in the dirt between his legs causing him to lose his balance. Ladybug tugs once more and he tumbles to the floor, grip lost on his club.

You land gracefully, yanking the spear from the ground and pointing it at him in one fluid motion. Your first instinct is to make a witty remake, something about 'three strikes, you're out', but the way he cowers under your steady gaze has you holding your tongue.

His hands begin to move rapidly to form symbols, sign-language, and your resolve crumbles. God damn, the kid was mute too?

With a sigh you sheath your weapon and hold your hand out, an offer of peace.

Before you can even properly process his wicked grin he's grabbing your arm and flinging you into the ladybug vigilante. Well, at least you now know how the brat lifts a thousand pound bat.

You land in a mess of limbs, not all of which are your own, and you both exchange pained groans. Pushing up on your hands, you're finally able to get an up close and personal look at the spotted hero. And wow will you look at that, they're a girl.

Ebony pigtails, fair skin, and striking blue eyes behind a red and black spotted mask. Is it just you or are those ocean orbs extremely familiar?

You shake the thought away and quickly jump to your feet, reaching down to help her up as well. She thanks you once she's standing, you will admit she looked damn fine in that spotted suit, her focus immediately back on the fight.

The brat managed to get his weapon back and is currently pushing her cat companion onto the defensive. They're holding their own well, but you know they won't last much longer against such brute strength.

“We have to get his cap, that's where the akuma is,” her voice is determined, that of a born leader, and you almost don't want to question her.

“Look, hot bug lady, you can't just say things like that without some kind of exposition. What the hell are you talking about?” you say, very thoroughly confused.

Her brows furrows, whispers 'hot bug lady?' to herself, then shakes her head to get back on topic, “There's no time to explain, just focus on getting that cap and don't let him hit you with his bat. The black smoke coming from it seems to be a sort of temporary tranquilizer.”

You throw her a cheeky grin, “Steal the hat, don't get killed. Sounds easy enough."

In one powerful beat of your wings you shoot forward, intercepting Batter's swing with the feathered appendage before Chat could parry it. You throw him off just as Lady manages a solid kick to his side that has the brat skidding back a few feet.

The three of you regroup, Ladybug dropping down between you and Chat. You all take up a fighting stance, Lady twirling her yo-yo, you with your spear, and Chat with their staff.

You can feel Chat's gaze boring into you, probably recognizing you from the other night, but you fight the urge to return it. You know that once you were caught in those emerald pools you'd never be able to look away.

But, despite your better judgment, you sneak a peek.

Male, a lanky yet somewhat defined body (seriously that black suit left nothing to be imagined), messy golden hair, soft skin, a troublesome smirk, and those damned eyes are what you see.

And because you have zero self-control you risk meeting his stare. You only get a couple seconds to relish in the contact before his lips quirk up and he actually winks at you.

You're still struggling to summon the brain cells to react when Ladybug starts speaking hurriedly, “This is getting out of hand, we've got to do something.”

You push Chat's flirting (at least you think he was flirting) aside to focus on the task at hand,“Well whatever we're doing, we better do it soon before he destroys the entire stadium.”

“How are we supposed to get the cap if he's constantly swinging that thing around?” Chat voices, “There's no way to get around it without being hit.”

Ladybug suddenly perks up and you can practically see the light bulb above her head, “That's it! One of us has to take the hit!”

Chat immediately throws his hands up, “Hey, I've already been hit by that thing once, there's no way I'm doing it again.”

Ladybug rolls her eyes, “No, not you.” She points toward you, “Her.”

Wait, what?

“Wait, what?” you exclaim, “Didn't you say to avoid the death bat?”

“Look, just trust me on this alright? He can only attack one of us at a time and you're the only one who can withstand a direct hit,” Lady explains. “You can use your wings to block and the smoke won't effect you.”

You start to get the basic gist of what she's implying, “I get it, like a distraction.”

Lady smiles, her eyes burning fiercely, “Exactly, now follow my lead.”

Before you could ask what 'her lead' was and where to follow it she and Chat both sprang away, leaving you in the direct path of Batter's charge. You barely have enough time to raise a wing to counter his swing, the force nearly bringing you to your knees.

The pattern, swing-block-swing-block, continued for a few minutes, but to you it felt like hours. Each hit on your wings sent painful vibrations through your entire body, the strain causing you to clench your teeth.

After one particularly rattling attack, one that caused your bones to ache, you bite your tongue to keep from crying out. You taste blood.

Fuck, where the hell were Chat and Lady?!

You've just blocked another hit when a tap on your shoulder, an answered pray, has you looking back. Chat's grin is devious as his eyes dart toward your wing, the one still acting as a shield.

Your lips stretch just as wide and you give an affirmative nod.

Mustering as much strength as you can you push against the club, knocking it to the side and leaving the boy's defenses open just as Chat shouts, “Cataclysm!”

Hand bubbling an ominous black, he launches into the opening you've given him, snatching the cap from the boy's head as he soars over. Chat sticks the landing, the hat nothing but scarps of fabric in his palm by the time he's turned around to present it triumphantly.

The black butterfly that flutters out of the cloth surprises you a little, even more so when Ladybug catches it in her yo-yo only to release a pure white butterfly moments later.

She then throws the child-toy-made-weapon into the air, red and white lights swirling around it, and you gawk in amazement as all the destruction caused by the fight magically repairs itself.

Well, that explains how Paris kept from bankruptcy.

Ladybug and Chat Noir celebrate the victory with a fist bump, a tradition you decide not to break. Instead you turn your attention to what was once your 'enemy'.

Bitter Batter is gone and in his place you find a crying eleven year old boy.

You kneel next to him, cooing softly when he flinches away, “Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you.”

His cap, fully repaired, sits next to him and you pick it up. You dust it off and plop it down on his short chestnut hair with a kind smile, “There, now you're a proper baseball player.”

His sobs are silent, but you can still feel them against your chest when he throws himself into your arms. You gently shush him as he cries, hands rubbing soothing shapes into his back until he eventually settles down.

Pulling back you swipe your thumbs across his cheeks, flicking away his tears with patient strokes, “You're one strong kid, both inside and out. Never forget that, okay?”

He nods, his brown eyes impossibly big and your heart swells. Man, when he isn't an evil maniac he's incredibly adorable.

“David!” the boy turns at the sound of his name, his face lighting up when he spots a woman sharing his hair and eyes running towards you.

You rise to your feet as David takes off, immediately embracing the woman. She cries as she holds him, eyes glassy when she peers over his shoulder, and silently thanks you.

You nod, you're welcome, and she gathers her son in her arms to take him away. He signs rapidly to her and his mother reads every symbol with a smile. The sight warms your heart.

“Nice work back there,” Ladybug pipes up next to you, drawing your attention away from the retreating family.

You know she didn't only mean the fighting.

You shrug nonchalantly, “Ah, well, it's kinda in the job description.”

“So Paris has a new hero, huh?” Chat sidles up on your opposite side, arm thrown over your shoulders.

Your stomach flips as his arm pulls you close and you tell it to stop being stupid.

“Yeah, I guess it does,” you chuckle.

Lady moves to stand in front of you, hand resting on a jut out hip, and Chat releases you to stand beside her, arms crossed.

“Well, 'hero',” Chat Noir rolls the word playfully, “what do we call you?”

Hero.

You're not a hero, but she is.

So you say her name instead,

“Ivory Dove.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friday update! Comments always appreciated!


	7. A Moment Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends. You could be friends.

“You're gonna burn a whole through the floor, ya know,” Koko states, popping a raisin in his beak.

You walk to the bed where Koko lazily reclines. Pause. You turn and walk towards the opened window where the cool night air filters in. Pause, turn, walk.

Your feet carry you through this pattern again and again, but it does nothing to quill the anxious twisting in your gut.

“Chat Noir, the Chat Noir, wants to meet up. On top of the Eiffel Tower, literally the most romantic spot in the world. Privately. Tonight. How exactly are you not freaking out?!” you screech, tugging fitfully at your hair.

After the fight with Bitter Batter the three of you had gone your separate ways.

Ladybug was the first to leave, you gathered she wasn't one to stick around for long.

Chat was next, his miraculous timer getting dangerously low, but he turned to you just before he left. His gaze was intense, but his expression was unreadable as he spoke evenly, “Meet me on top of Paris' tower tonight.”

And then he was gone.

“Probably because I'm not the one meeting him, you are,” the kwami states, bored.

This instantly stops your pacing and you perk up, “That's right! Technically Ivory is meeting him, not me!”

Another pause. Then, “Ah, but what if he likes Ivory more than me?! Why do I even want him to like me in the first place?!”

Your frantic walk continues.

Koko rolls his eyes, “You know, this wouldn't be a problem if you just accepted the fact that you and Ivory are the same person.”

Finally, once you're too exhausted to move anymore, you collapse beside the little dove. You give a defeated sigh, hands resting on your stomach and eyes trained on the ceiling, “That's just it Koko, I'm not.”

The kwami throws his head back with a groan, “Oh my miraculous- yes you are! You are Ivory Dove!”

“No I'm not!” you shout, startling him as you bolt up. You stare at your hands which are now in your lap as you whisper brokenly, “I'm not her. I'm just... me.”

Koko opens his beak to argue, but decides against it. Sighing, he flutters up onto your thigh, giving the limb a reassuring pat, “I guess you have nothing to worry about then. After all, Ivory's the one going on a date tonight.”

Your lips tilt up the smallest bit, “It's not a date.”

“What date?”

Yelping you grab the kwami and quickly stuff him under your pillow, the creature giving a shout of displeasure. Your dad stands in the doorway, very thoroughly confused on why his daughter was talking to herself.

“Dad! Hi! Hey! W-What are you doing in here?” you stutter, hoping that if you smiled wide enough he wouldn't suspect a thing.

He gives you a careful once over, thin brow arched, “Well, I'm about to order dinner and came to ask what you wanted...Is everything okay?”

You laugh, the sound fake, “Of course everything's fine! I'm fine, just fine! Why do you ask?”

Your father gives you a look that said he wasn't buying it and you can practically feel the sweat rolling off your forehead.

“Wait a second, I know what's happening here,” he says slowly and your heart stops.

Suddenly his face brightens and he breaks into a tearful smile, hands held to his chest, “My little baby has a crush!”

You release the breath you unknowingly held. A crush, you could work with that.

“Uh, yeah, actually. I mean, I wouldn't say it's a crush, more of an attraction,” you mummer bashfully. Who knew you were so good at acting?

Your father, a 37 year old man, squeals, “Oh, I'm so happy! Tell me, what are they like? Are they nice? Are they cute? Do you share any classes?”

“Dad, stop, it's not like that!” you choke, face burning and you tell yourself it's still an act. “We just met! Besides, I've only talked to him a hand full of times so far, I don't even know if I can consider him a friend yet-”

“So it's a boy!” he coos, eyes sparkling, “What's his name?”

Knowing there was no other way around this, you cross your arms with a huff, “Adrien Agreste.”

“Agreste?” your father hums, fingers rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “Why does that name sound familiar...”

Before he returns from his train of thought, you give an exaggerated yawn and stretch, “Wow will you look at the time! I should probably head to bed, school in the morning.”

You begin hurriedly pushing him out into the hall, “It was nice talking to you, dad. Goodnight!”

You slam the door just as he opens his mouth to speak. A couple silent seconds pass before you hear a tentative 'Goodnight, sweetheart' followed by his retreating footsteps.

For a moment you feel guilty for turning him away, it's been a while since you've shared an actual conversation with your father, but your alarm clock reads midnight and you have someplace to be.

“Koko,” you rush to your bed, flinging the pillow away, “Koko!”

Said kwami snores loudly, chest rising and falling softly. You scoff, of course he would use being stuffed between two plush surfaces as an excuse to take a nap.

“Koko, get up! We've gotta go!” you shout, shaking the dove awake.

He blinks blearily, swatting your hand away whilst grumbling, “Give me like, five more minutes, then we can go meet your boyfriend.”

“First of all, not my boyfriend,” you state, scooping him into your hands despite his squawk of protest, “And second, I'll give you whatever kind of raisins you want.”

He snuggles down into your hands in an attempt at sleep, “Nah, you've already bribed me with raisins remember? Try again.”

You sigh, “I'll make you those raisin tarts you love so much. Happy?”

He flies up, all traces of weariness gone, grinning like the little shit he is, “Very, now lets go meet your boyfriend.”

“Shut up and transform me.”

~*~

Chat's already there, a shadow leaning against the iron rail, when you arrive.

The clacking of your boots against the metal walkway alerts him to your landing and he leans back to give you a dazzling smile, “Didn't think you'd show up, birdie.”

You relax beside him, the support rail against your lower back and elbows keeping you up, “Yeah sorry bout that, I was having a little trouble with the miraculous.”

He chuckles, forearms against the bar, facing out towards the city, “You too? Man, for a while I thought I was the only one with a stubborn kwami.”

“Well, it's nice to know we have something in common, even if it's our difficult partners,” you joke.

He doesn't laugh this time. You wait for him to say something, anything, but he doesn't. He just stares down at Paris' lights, the entire city reflecting off his emerald orbs.

When he does start speaking it's in a low, nearly guarded tone, “The other night, that was you I saw, wasn't it?”

“It was,” you nod slowly, spinning to mirror his position. “I was flying around and happened to see you perched here. I thought about coming up to you, but there was that whole antenna incident and... yeah.”

Your face burns from embarrassment. You don't think you'll ever let yourself live that one down.

He hums, brows furrowing behind his ebony mask, and then he's suddenly smiling. As if that entire moment never happened. Gosh, this boy was going to give you whiplash if he kept this up.

“Speaking of partners, you are going to love working with me and Ladybug. She may seem like a sourpuss at first, but she's actually really cool once you get to know her,” he snickers, either from his pun or the accuracy of said pun.

But you recognize the underlying affection in his words and wow why did your heart feel like it just got sucker punched?

“And as for me, well,” he purrs, moving so that your sides are touching as he whispers dangerously close to your face, “I plan on becoming very thoroughly acquainted with you, birdie.”

How does he switch from being very obviously in love to flirting with a girl he just met so fast?

“Wow,” you snort, bumping him with your hip, “You are one flirty kitty.”

He shrugs, grinning wickedly, “What can I say, I'm pawsitively bad.”

This time you giggle. Okay, his puns were kinda cute.

“Yeah, bad at making puns,” but you wouldn't admit that.

He gasps, holding a hand to his chest in mock hurt, “How dare you! My puns are of the highest comedic value and it's truly catastrophic that you don't think so as well.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh come on, that one hardly counts. It's a real word!”

Laughter is easy, full, and you think that this is nice. You wouldn't mind it if things stayed like this. Friends, you could stay friends.

An hour and countless terrible puns later Chat decides it's about time to head home.

“It's been fun, birdie. Let's do this again sometime,” he says, jumping up to balance on the rail.

You stare up at him, smiling, “I'd like that, cat.”

He smirks, giving you a wink and salute, before stepping back. His body plummets and for a second you freak out, but the silver of his staff catches in the light as it propels him from building to building.

You watch his dark figure dance across rooftops, like the agile cat he claims to be, until it disappears from sight. You continue to stare at the last place you saw him, silence following his absence and loneliness seeping in to take his place at your side.

Your mind is not your own in that moment, too overwhelmed with questions you have none of the answers to.

For example, what the hell was that all about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now some of you may be going, "What, that's not right. Chat is supposed to love the Reader!" But life is never that easy and neither are the relationships in this fic. Canonically Chat loves Lady and I didn't just want to erase his feelings for her, I wouldn't be doing justice to their already established relationship.
> 
> But who knows, maybe someone else will catch the ol lovebug for our dear reader *wink*.
> 
> Also, the keys on my keyboard just crapped out, rip.


	8. Lunch Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes, there's always something lying dormant in those eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is a bit late, there was a small set back with the files and internet(I'm actually uploading this from my phone) but everything's okay now and chapter 8 is here!

“Hey, are you even listening?”

You blink, looking over at an irritated Alya, “Huh?”

She sighs, dropping her sandwich into her lap, “I've been talking for like, five minutes now, and all you've done is stare off into space. What's up with you today?”

Your brows arch down, confused, “What do you mean?”

“You've been out of it all day. I mean, you haven't even looked at your food,” Marinette gestures to the untouched slice of pizza on the bench beside you, your dinner from last night.

Actually, did you remember to eat breakfast?

“Yeah, sorry bout that, I didn't get much sleep,” you admit sheepishly, actually moving to take a bite of your lunch.

And it's true, after everything that happened the day before it was nearly impossible to fall asleep. Not even two days in Paris and you've already had your ass kicked both physically and emotionally. But you've also made some great friends, two of which happen to be super heroes, so you suppose the past couple days haven't been that bad.

But it's what Chat said and how he acted that really kept you up, eyes unmoving on your dark roof as the scene replayed over and over in your head.

His eyes, usually so expressive, were unreadable. Guarded. He needed an answer to something, but at the same time was afraid of the one he'd get. And when you gave him one, he acted as if the entire conversation never occurred. He laugh was just as free, smile just as easy, but his eyes. He still hid something behind those eyes.

“You're doing it again.”

“What?” you state dumbly, “Doing what?”

Marinette, obviously concerned, gives you a pointed look, “Spacing out. You've been holding that pizza to your mouth for a minute now without taking a bite.”

“It's true, I timed it,” Alya pipes up.

You lower the slice, cheeks burning.

Marinette sets aside her own lunch, scooting closer to place a comforting hand on your arm, “Is something wrong? We're here for you if you need us, you know.”

You hope your smile is convincing enough, “Thanks Mari, but I'm fine. Honest.”

She stares at you a moment longer, debating whether or not to believe you, before sighing. She lets the issue drop, along with her hand, and you mentally thank her for not pushing it.

“So,” you say, hoping to direct the attention away from you, “what were we talking about earlier?”

Alya doesn't miss a beat, jumping back into her previous conversation with fervor, “Paris' new hero! She totally kicked ass yesterday alongside Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

So much for steering the attention away from yourself.

“What, really?” Marinette asks, picking idly at her food, as if this was all old news to her.

Alya whips out her phone, immediately bringing up a news article and shoving the screen into your face, “Yeah! No one knows where she came from, but it's pretty obvious that she's some kind of bird themed hero.”

The pictures are a little blurry, but you can clearly make out a white figure against the blue sky. They must have been taken when you were observing the fight from above.

It's impossible to keep the anticipation out of your voice when you ask, “What's her name?”

“No one knows for sure,” Alya pulls the phone back towards her, scrolling before presenting it to you again. “But people are calling her Lady Swan.”

That's... not that bad actually. At least it wasn't something awful, like Miss Pigeon.

Marinette huffs, “It's a little repetitive don't you think? I mean, there's already a Lady.”

Ladybug and Lady Swan does seem like one too many ladies.

“She's right, you'd think that who ever comes up with these names would pick something original,” you comment offhandedly, biting into your pizza to keep from seeming too interested.

Alya nods, going back to fiddling with her phone whilst deep in thought.

A moment of quiet passes before Alya turns to you, “Hey, we're still on for Saturday, right?”

“Oh! I nearly forgot about that,” you swallow then grin. “Yeah, we're still on.”

“Marinette? You good for Saturday?” Alya leans around you to speak with said girl.

Marinette doesn't respond, gaze focused on something on the other side of the court yard. You follow her line of sight, surprised to find Adrien on the receiving end of her attention.

He's sitting against a tree, smile bright as he listens intently to something his friend with the red cap is saying, and your stomach clenches. She doesn't... like him, does she?

“Yo Mari, you mind doing a little less drooling and a little more listening?” Alya snickers and you have to fight down your disappointment.

She does.

Marinette whips around, entire face red, and stutters, “I-I wasn't drooling!”

She wipes at his mouth and Alya whispers in your ear loud enough for the ravenette to hear, “That's Adrien Agreste, Marinette's been crushing on him since forever.”

“Yeah, we've met,” you mummer, staring down at your lap.

You know it's dumb to crush on a boy you barely know, you would think you'd learn your lesson after the whole Chat let down. But, maybe things are better this way. Just because Marinette has a crush on him doesn't mean you still can't be friends, right?

Right.

“Oh yeah, he walked you to class yesterday,” Alya realizes.

You nod, “I got lost and he showed me the way.”

Marinette sighs dreamily, “You're so lucky. I wish Adrien would walk me to class.”

“As if he'd ever do that,” someone scoffs and your look up to an unpleasant sight.

The rude girl from the day before stands in front of your trio, hands on her hips and smile cold.

She rolls her eyes and speaks as if reprimanding a child, “Honestly Marinette, it's not good for you to keep fantasizing about things that are never going to happen. Especially since Adrien is my boyfriend.”

You would be heart broken if you actually believed someone as kind as Adrien would go for such a brat.

“You're the one living in a fantasy world, Chloe. You and Adrien aren't even dating,” Alya growls and for a moment you think you might have to hold her back. Not that you would.

Chloe huffs, crossing her arms, “The love me and Adrikins share doesn't need to be labeled, not that someone like you would ever understand.”

You fail at suppressing a snot. What the hell kind of pet name is Adrikins?

The blonde's glare snaps toward you, “What are you laughing at, new girl?”

The giggles catch in your throat. Confrontation, another thing you're not good at. Your eyes dart around, never deciding on a place to land, as you fumble with a response.

Luckily Marinette comes to your rescue before you can get past the first syllable, “Leave her alone Chloe.”

You nearly breath a sigh of relief when Chloe turns away with an exaggerated hair flip, “Whatever, you guys aren't worth my time anyway.”

She spins on her designer heels and marches inside, ponytail bouncing obnoxiously and hips swaying far too much.

“Ignore her,” Alya mutters, still glaring daggers at the girl, “She's like that to everyone who isn't Adrien.”

“It still doesn't make it right,” Marinette grumbles.

“Don't worry Mari,” Alya reaches across you to pat her leg, “one of these days someone's going to give her a taste of her own medicine.”

Gosh, what you wouldn't give for that someone to be you.

“Come on,” Marinette stands, gathering her things. “The bell's about to ring.”

You and Alya follow her lead, slinging your backpack over your shoulder and tossing away your half eaten pizza just as the bell signals the end of lunch.

You exchange idle chit chat, mostly about your plans for Saturday, as the three of you make your way inside. You catch sight of Adrien walking with his friend who's name you still don't know and he meets your eyes.

His lips tilt up as he waves. You give a smile and a little wave back.

Friends, you could be friends.


	9. Something Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing sweeter than friendship.

The weeks passes quickly and before you know it you're standing outside an ice cream shop alongside your two friends.

“Wow, it's a lot cuter than I thought it'd be,” Marinette comments, and you have to agree.

Ollie Cake's ice cream shop has to be the most adorable building you've ever seen.

The bricks are a nice yellow, unlike those god awful curtains you still haven't had the chance to get rid of, and two large windows flank a glass door. Pink and white stripped awnings provide shade for little tables on the sidewalk, allowing couples to enjoy both the weather and a treat. And the sign, displayed proudly over the door, reads 'Ollie Cake's Sweets' in large pink letters.

You're so taken by the aesthetic of the store that you barely notice Alya holding the door open for you.

The inside is just as cute and you're just as elated. Black leather booths line the wall opposite to the ice cream counter, a few round metal tables placed here and there. Pictures of different sweet confections occupy the beige walls above every booth and the checker tiled floor shines under the hanging lamps.

The shop is crowded, as to be expected on the Saturday after grand-opening, filling the air with talk, laughter, and sugary aromas. The atmosphere is warm, despite being a shop that sells frozen dairy, and you don't think you'll ever tire of coming here.

Alya, in a purple tank-top, caprices, and mint Converse, looks around at all the occupied tables, “Man, this place needs more seating.”

“I'm sure there's an empty table somewhere,” Marinette wearing a red sundress, black tights, white slippers, and holding tightly to a white purse assures.

You, dressed in a tucked white button up, shorts, gray tennis shoes, and a small pink backpack, point towards the line, “Why don't you guys find us someplace to sit while I go get our ice cream?”

The two agree and tell you their orders, a cherry chocolate swirl for Marinette and a double scoop of mint chocolate chip for Alya, before leaving to search for a vacant table.

The long line gives you time to read the large menu above the counter, and Marinette really wasn't lying when she said 'over a hundred flavors'. When it's finally your turn you still haven't decided on what you want and the employee behind the counter senses your panic.

“I suggest the Cocoa-berry Split, it's one of my favorites,” she suggest with a kind smile.

You never would have been able to choose on your own so you nod, “Yeah, that sounds great.”

You list off Alya's and Marinette's orders, gawking at how fast the employee manages to make them. Not even thirty seconds later she's handing you three ice cream bowls and reading off the cost, “Twelve dollars and eighty four cents.”

You fumble for your money, the employee still as patient as ever, and hand her a twenty, “Keep the change.”

The bill is exchanged for the goods, which you have a little trouble carrying. She offers to help, but you politely decline, “Thanks anyway...”

You squint to read her name tag, “Ollie.”

Ollie sends you off with a closed eye smile and you take note of where the tip jar is.

It's nearly impossible to navigate the crowd, and despite your best efforts you still manage to bump into people. You apologize every time, ice cream tittering dangerously in your hands.

You scan the establishment, hoping to spot a familiar pair of glasses or black pigtails.

What you get instead is a rowdy kid running by, a harsh shove, and then you're falling forward. You barely have enough time to gasp, ice creams tittering, tittering, tipping.

Stopping. A solid chest, strong arms, and a scent sweeter than any frozen treat. Your eyes snap up, heart stuttering when they met endless evergreen.

Adrien chuckles, arms being the only thing keeping you up, “We've really got to stop meeting like this.”

His touch might have well been scalding with how fast you pull away from it, your frantic movements nearly sending the ice creams toppling to the floor.

“W-Well, at least we didn't fall this time,” you joke, praying he doesn't notice how red your face is.  
His outfit is casual, a green sleeveless hoodie over a plain black t-shirt, blue jeans, and black sneakers, and wow when did it get so hot in this ice cream shop?

He grins and you scold the butterflies in your stomach, “Only cause I caught you this time.”

'Don't say stuff like that, it's hard enough controlling my heart as is.'

“Thanks,” you stare at your reflection in the monochrome tiles. “For catching me, I mean.”

“Anytime,” Adrien promises rather than states and you nearly want to punch him.

Anything if it meant making these feelings stop.

“So,” you quickly change the topic, “What are you doing here?”

You hope that doesn't sound rude, but you really weren't expecting to run into him here. Quite literally.

Adrien gestures behind him, “My friend was really excited when this place opened up and he convinced me to come too. It was a pain getting away from all my responsibilities for the day, but so far it's been worth it.”

You ignore the little smile he gives you at the end of his sentence by looking over his shoulder.

Well, it looks like Marinette and Alya managed to find a table after all. The two girls along with Adrien's friend share a booth at the far end of the shop, Marinette sitting nearest to the wall, Alya beside her, and the boy's red cap peeking over the back of his seat.

“Responsibilities? What kind of responsibilities?” you attempt light conversation, making your way towards them. Adrien follows and being the gentleman he is, offers to take one of the ice creams.

And you let him cause with how bad your hands are shaking there's no way you could carry all of them.

Adrien avoids your gaze with a shrug, “Ah, you know, normal things like schoolwork and stuff.”

It's pretty obvious he's hiding something, but you feel like it's not your place to speak so you let it drop, “I get it, my dad almost didn't let me come either. We still have a lot of unpacking to do, but I talked him into letting me take the day off.”

He gets kinda of awkward after that, almost as if he has a question he doesn't know if he should ask.

“He has the same look in his eyes as Chat,” you banish the thought as soon as it appears. You really should stop comparing the two.

No one speaks after that and you place Alya's desert in front of her immediately upon arriving at the table, flopping down in the empty spot next to her with your Cocoa-berry Split.

“Hey girl, what took you so long? We had to send Adrien to go find you,” she asks, digging into her minty treat.

You watch with a faint smile as Adrien leans over to give a red face Marinette her desert, glad you purposely let him carry hers, “Sorry, I couldn't find you guys.”

Adrien takes his seat across from you and Alya turns to the dark skinned boy next to him, “This is Nino Lahiffe, he's in our class.”

Nino, thank god you finally know his name, sports his usual red hat, glasses, and headphones hanging from his neck. The only difference in his appearance being a red shirt to a band you don't know, khaki shorts, and worn white Vans.

You display your hand in introduction and he shakes it whilst grinning, “Adrien told me about you. You're new to Paris, right?”

“Yeah, I just moved here a week ago,” you say, deciding to dwell on the fact Adrien talks about you later, “Alya and Marinette are gonna show me around town later.”

Nino scoops up a spoonful of his Rocky-road, “Cool.”

“A-Adrien, uh,” Marinette stutters, having finally mustered the courage to speak to her crush, “where's your ice cream?”

The blonde smiles and you can practically feel Marinette swoon, “I'm not very hungry.”

Despite this you still catch him sending fleeting glances at the counter housing all the frozen deserts.

Curious, and maybe just the tiniest bit eager to get to know him more, you question, “What's your favorite kind?”

“My... favorite?” this seems to catch him off guard a little, face glowing a light shade of red. “Well, I uh, think I'd like to try Matcha Green Tea.”

You raise a brow, “Try? Meaning you've never had it before?”

Nino cuts off Adrien's response with a nudge, “Leave it to you to pick the healthiest ice cream in the world.”

The group dissolves into giggles at the blonde's expense, but he takes it all in good fun, eventually joining in. Conversation flows easily after that and it's like you've known each other for years.

Marinette eventually gets over her awkwardness at being so close to the object of her affection, managing to maintain eye contact with him for an outstanding six seconds at a time without becoming a flustered mess. The initial sting of jealousy doesn't last long against the swell of pride.

In the end you value your friendship with Marinette more than your feelings for Adrien. If she's happy, then you're happy.

Alya makes a snide comment, something about the rather inappropriate outfit the elderly woman sitting a few tables away is wearing, that causes Marinette to choke on her ice cream. You laugh without restraint, all smiles and accidental snorts, until you're nearly breathless.

You're so caught up in handing the hacking girl napkins that you fail to notice the jade gaze trailed on you, the beginnings of something growing in them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys send help I'm running out of steam on this story again.


	10. I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything was going so well and for a second you truly believed the universe would grant you this one pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm so sorry that this is so late. The time kinda got away from me.

Everything was going so well and for a second you truly believed the universe would grant you this one pleasure. A break, a breather, a chance to relax.

But you should have known better. Should have known that the cosmos are not that kind.

None of you even noticed when she walked in, too caught up in a heated argument about which genre of music was the best (Alya swore that indie was superior, but Nino claimed techno trumped all), but it's impossible to miss her shrill voice even from half way across the crowded diner.

“Oh Adrikins!”

The group's reaction is instantaneous. Adrien flinches, Nino groans, Marinette glowers, Alya rolls her eyes, and you give a heavy sigh.

Chloe, in all her expensive glory, nearly tackles Adrien from his seat with an ear splitting squeal.

She reeks of a flowery perfume that you're sure would smell lovely if applied in moderation, and you wonder how long Adrien can inhale the toxin before dying. Her designer pink dress flares just above her knees, golden hair twisted in a bun on top of her head, and black heels click against the tile.

She kinda reminds you of a self-absorbed Barbie doll.

“Chloe! W-What are you doing here?” Adrien, very obviously uncomfortable, struggles at untangling her arms from around his neck. Is she choking him? Holy shit he's turning blue.

He manages to pry her off, face returning to it's natural hue with each wheezing breath. She refuses to move farther than arms length away, practically sitting in his lap.

She pouts, glossy lips dangerously close to his own despite how far away he leans, “Well, I just so happened to be walking by, minding my own business, when I spotted you through the window!”

“Just walking by my ass,” Marinette mutters under her breath, but Chloe continues unfazed.

“Now usually I wouldn't dare come into such an,” she spares her environment a sneer, “establishment, but I thought you'd like some better company.”

The jab is directed at his current company and you can see Marinette visibly shake with rage. Alya's jaw clenches, probably to keep from barking an insult back. You follow her example and bite your tongue.

Fighting would be useless and a waste of time, but then Chloe runs her palms sensually across Adrien's shoulders and it takes all your self control not to vault the table to push her off.

She trails a manicured finger down his chest and he shudders in poorly hidden disgust, “Honestly Adrikins, I'm surprised to find you here in the first place. Ice cream isn't exactly a diet food.”

Diet? Why would Adrien be on a diet?

You push the thought to the back of your mind, the murder in Marinette's eyes taking top priority.

“Well, uh, since you're here why don't you go get some ice cream?” you quickly intervene, hoping to quill the growing tensions between the two girls. You really didn't want to get banned from the premises for brawling.

Chloe scoffs as if it's the most preposterous idea in the world, in her world at least, “As if I would ever put something so disgusting in my body. Unlike you, I have a figure to maintain.”

Your heart tightens unpleasantly at her words. You tell the stinging behind your eyes that she's wrong, that there's nothing wrong with your body, but it doesn't listen.

You drop your gaze to the table top, hoping that if you focused hard enough your vision will stop swimming.

“Hey!” Alya snaps causing you to jump, “Don't you dare talk to my girl like that!”

Nino shakes his head, “That was really uncalled for dude.”

“Yeah!” Marinette adds defensively, “She was only trying to be nice to you!”

Chloe snorts, completely ignoring the four of you in favor of linking her wrists behind Adrien's neck, “Why don't we-”

Adrien catches her hands and pushes them back, startling the other blonde.

He gives her a stern look, one you've never seen him give to anyone, and orders in a way that leaves no room for protesting, “That was wrong and you need to apologize, now.”

But Chloe tries anyway, “But-”

“No buts Chloe,” he says with an air of finality, dropping her hands. “If you won't apologize then I think it's best if you leave.”

Her bottom lip trembles, “You don't honestly mean that, do you Adrikins?”

Adrien turns his head, refusing to look at her, “Goodbye Chloe.”

She sits there, stunned, before shoving the table roughly as she stands. The movement knocks over all the ice cream bowls, which you think was her plan. She wants her exit to be as messy as possible.

“Whatever!” she screeches, voice high as she throws her little tantrum. “This was just a waste of my time anyway!”

She spins, back straight and chin held high, intent on marching away. What she doesn't expect is to immediately collide with the oblivious shop owner.

The two ice cream cones Ollie had been carrying now stain the front of Chloe's dress, a nasty mix of brown and white that you know is never washing out.

Funeral silence. No one dare moves, let alone speak. The calm before the storm.

Chloe screams.

Nothing intelligible at first, just guttural noise, and then she starts lashing out at Ollie. Threatening to have her father close down the shop. Any and all attempts Ollie makes at apologizing, pleading, is cut off by Chloe's ranting.

The blonde pushes past Ollie, who looks like she's about burst into tears, and anyone else who stands between her and the exit.

Chloe slams the door, the bell chiming violently, and then everything's quiet again.

“Ollie-” you start, hand halfway reaching for the girl.

But she's already sobbing, shoving past your outstretched arm and sprinting out the back door.

You shout her name, jumping from your seat to follow her. You throw your bag over your shoulder, careful of the kwami inside, and make a bee line for the back door.

In your haste you don't hear the worried calls of your friends or Adrien hesitating, deciding whether or not to chase after you.

The door leads into the kitchen and you speed walk across the room to another door, this one opening up to an alleyway.

Stepping out into the alley you're meet by dumpsters, trashcans, and a stray cat that scurries away upon seeing you. But no Ollie.

The uneasy feeling in your gut causes you to clutch tighter to your bag straps. Cautiously, you walk further into the empty space, “Ollie?”

Then you hear it. Whispers that draw you left, towards the darkest end of the alley.

You eventually find the source of the noise and your unease crouched behind a dumpster, muttering to herself as if she were having a conversation with another person.

“...Ollie?” you inch closer, your every fight or flight reflex begging you to flap your goddamn wings and get the hell out of there.

You regret not listening to those reflexes when she suddenly starts cackling maniacally, her entire body glowing a bright blue. The intense light forces you to shield your eyes, arms thrown up defensively.

The light dims and you risk peeking over your arms, stumbling back with a horrified gasp at the sight that greets you.

Where Ollie Cake once stood is now a pale blue skinned girl wearing a puffy mint colored dress, white tights, brown knee high boots, and a long white scarf. A gold rectangle rests on the right side of her chest, her name tag. She twirls a silver spoon, roughly the size of a scepter, in one hand while the other leans casually against her hip.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” she giggles, the sound high pitched and disgustingly sweet.

Your flight reflex, being fed up with your shit, kicks in and you immediately break into a sprint the opposite direction.

“Aw, going so soon?” the girl who is no longer Ollie whines. She raises her scepter, swinging it in a horizontal arching motion, “We haven't even had desert!”

Glowing golden goo shoots from the tip of her spoon, the syrup like substance catching your foot. You collapse to the trash ridden ground, knees burning from the impact. You tug frantically at your foot, which is coated in the translucent goo, but it doesn't budge from where its been glued to the asphalt.

The girl kneels beside you, shaking her head and tsking, “Oh you poor thing, looks like you've fallen! Here, let me help you up.”

She grabs your forearm roughly, her sharp nails digging crescents into your skin. You wince, trying fruitlessly to pull free, but her strength far out matches your own. She lightly taps her scepter to your trapped foot, the glue melting away instantly.

Before you can even think about an escape plan she yanks you to your feet, then off your feet, with one hand. She pauses in the air, neither of you touching the ground, and you take this brief moment to shrug your bag off.

You can hear Koko's distraught squawks from beneath the fabric, having probably woken him from a nap, before his little white head pokes out. He stops mid-complaint, your name a mix between a panicked shout and fearful cry on his beak.

The girl doesn't hear him, thankfully, and begins to fly away, taking you with her. You don't return Koko's calls, not wanting to draw the girl's attention to him, but you hope he can read the message in your eyes.

“Wait for me, Kokie. I'll be back, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really not feeling this chapter. It took me nearly a month to write this, I've scrapped at least 3 rough drafts, and I'm still not happy with what I have. But I'm tired of looking at it and just want to get working on the next chapter already, so here's something half-assed for you guys. I promise next week's chapter will be better.


	11. Revenge Is Best Served Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falling, falling, falling.

You've never been afraid of heights. As a little girl you loved to climb tall things, stacking objects on top of each other precariously, just to see how high you could go.

You can still remember your mom getting after you, scolding you about how dangerous it was and how you could fall and hurt yourself. It never occurred to you before, never even passed through your child mind that you could injure yourself. You just wanted to be closer to the sky.

But as you dangle twelve stories above Paris from the arms of an akumatized villain you realize how stupid young you were for not being terrified of heights.

You don't bother with struggling, Ollie's tight grip being the only thing keeping you from greeting hard asphalt, but you do try reasoning.

“Ollie please stop this, it isn't you! You're akumatized, you're being controlled!” you plead to the corrupt ice-cream shop owner.

“Quiet!” Ollie snaps back, shooting you a scorching glare, “Hawkmoth isn't controlling me, he's helping me! He's given me power beyond my wildest dreams in exchange for the miraculous!”

Shock squeezes the air from your lungs. Hawkmoth? Who the hell is Hawkmoth and why does he want the miraculous?

Your necklace brushes your throat as you gulp.

“Ollie-” you start, screeching when the hands on your forearms suddenly disappear, leaving you to free fall for two petrifying seconds.

She catches you, this time with her arm wrapped around your mid-section to keep you tucked to her side. Like you didn't already feel like the damsel-in-distress.

“Stop calling me that,” she sneers. “My name is Sweet Tooth.”

Had you not been literally hanging for dear life you would've laughed. Seriously, what kind of evil name is Sweet Tooth? Are her powers the ability to give people cavities?

She jostles you from your snide thoughts, cackling as you choke out a yelp. You curl into yourself in search of a sense of security, finding none.

Sweet continues flying through the skies of Paris, one hand supporting you and the other holding her spoon like scepter which she uses to conjure up syrup projectiles. She flings sugary bullet after sugary bullet at the poor citizens below, the gooey substance instantly gluing her victims to the ground or walls.

You watch the mayhem unfold below you, completely powerless to stop it. You clutch tightly to your necklace, the cool metal calming you slightly. You pray that Koko's okay, that he's safe.

Tucking the charm into your shirt you gather whatever courage you have and demand, “What do you want with me?!”

Sweet suddenly stops, but her attention isn't on you. She stares out over the buildings, searching for something on the rooftops and grinning when she finds it, “Bargaining.”

Your stomach drops when you realize what she means.

Ladybug and Chat Noir land on the roof opposite where you and Ollie are floating, weapons already drawn.

“Let the civilian go!” Ladybug orders, yo-yo spinning threateningly at her side. You never thought a yo-yo could be described as threatening.

“And don't be like 'okay' and drop her in mid-air either!” Chat chimes and despite being literally held hostage you giggle.

Chat grins in response to your laughter, but all hilarity is wiped clean from the situation when Sweet makes her offer, “I'll give her back in exchange for your miraculous!”

You bite your tongue to keep from pleading they don't do it, not wanting to give away that you know what a miraculous is.

Chat groans, throwing his hands in the air, “That's what they all want! Can't you guys come up with something else for a change?”

This probably shouldn't surprise you as much as it does. Guess miraculous thieves are a common occurrence here in Paris.

Sweet hums, tapping her scepter to her chin, “Well, how about you give me Chloe Bourgeois instead?”

Okay now that you don't have as much of a problem with. It's still bad, sure, but it's better than handing over their powers.

Chat shakes his head in disappointment, hands on his hips, “I was kinda hoping for something original.”

Yeah, that kinda makes sense. Chloe seems like the kind of person to piss off villains on a daily basis.

Fed up with the banter, Lady cuts in, “Hawkmoth is manipulating you, he's lying to you! But we can help you, just give us the girl! Please.”

Sweet's playful expression quickly turns sour, “Sorry Ladybug, no deal.”

And then you're falling. You know she won't catch you again.

You think you hear Chat and Lady shout your name, but all sound is drowned out by your screams. The wind whips through your hair, something that used to mean freedom, but now signals your quickly approaching doom.

You screw your eyes shut, not wanting to see the ground when you finally meet it. You squeak upon impact, but instead of pain and death you're met with the calming scent of pine and mint. Huh, was the afterlife supposed to make you feel this safe?

Peeking one eye open, then both, you gasp.

Chat Noir, arms secure under your knees and shoulders, cradles you close to his chest as he leaps from building to building, putting as much distance between you and the fighting as possible.

You feel his muscles flex against you with each jump and every time he lands he grunts quietly, his breath fanning across your cheeks.

Maybe you did die after all. Was this what heaven is like?

Chat notices your gawking, sending you a cocky wink that makes your face burn. If the fall didn't kill you his flirting certainly would.

He stops on an abandon street, this part of the city having been evacuated, and lowers you to your feet. Your legs wobble a little and he holds your hand to steady you, “Whoa, careful there. We can't have you falling for me again.”

Once you're sure your knees won't give out you snatch your hand away, cradling the appendage to your rapidly beating heart. And you don't think it was the near death experience causing your heart to go haywire.

“T-Thank you. For saving me,” you stumble back, not so subtly inching away. Not that you don't like being near him, you did more than you probably should, but there's a little bird that you desperately need to get back to.

Chat, completely oblivious to your searching for an escape route, cups your palm in his again. Bending at the waist, eyes fluttering close, he places a delicate kiss to the back of your hand.

You can practically feel the steam rise off your face, the brush of his ridiculously soft lips against your skin having short circuited something in your brain.

It doesn't occur to you that you can just take your hand back until he's already standing up straight, that stupidly adorable smile on his stupidly adorable face causing his stupidly adorable eyes to crinkle at the edges.

“Anytime, mademoiselle,” he purrs, voice dipping seductively.

This stupidly adorable boy is stupid.

You take your senses and shake them, maybe smack them around a little, and finally pull free of this cat's hypnotic grip on you.

“U-Uh, don't you have a fight to get to?” you ask, locking your hands behind you so he can't grab them again.

His brows furrow under his mask, confusion, before shooting up, realization. He slaps the side of his fist into an open palm, “Oh yeah!”

Reaching behind him, he pulls out his staff, giving you a quick wave with the other, “Sorry to cut our time short, but it seems I've got somewhere to be.”

Closing remark having been said you expect him to shoot up and away, but he pauses, giving you a serious look, “Stay safe.”

Startled, you can only nod. He accepts this answer and then he's gone, pushing into the air with his retractable weapon and disappearing over the rooftops.

Standing in the middle of the deserted street, the distant sounds of battle raging on, you tentatively rub the spot his lips touched and sigh.

You take a step back, then another, and spin on your heel. None of the street signs look familiar, no landmarks to guide you as you run, but your feet seem to know where to carry you.

All paths eventually lead back to him, your precious little bird.

There are stitches in your sides and fire in your lungs by the time you reach Ollie Cake's Sweets, the pale yellow bricks a welcomed sight. You skid to a halt at the alley's mouth, nearly colliding with the wall in your haste. You vault trashcans and cardboard boxes, anything and everything acting as an obstacle between you and your goal.

Said goal flutters anxiously above your abandoned backpack, biting at the ends of his wings.

“Koko!” you cry his name, breathless, and never before has your name being screamed back brought you such relief.

The force of his tiny body ramming into your stomach nearly knocks the wind from you. You immediately cradle him close, one hand holding him while the other smooths his ruffled feathers. He wants to be angry, wants his anger to outweigh his fear, but his shaking fails to do his insults justice.

You just hold him and whisper reassuring nonsense, as much for his comfort as it is for yours.

When he manages to collect himself he pulls away, wiping aggressively at his eyes, “Don't you ever do that to me again, ya hear? I almost... I nearly... I could have... gotten eaten by a stray cat or something!”

Koko has never been good at expressing himself, but you know what he really wants to say.

I almost lost you. I nearly lost you. I could have lost you.

You pat his head, the three feather like antennas there bouncing from the action, “You wouldn't have gotten eaten, I promise.”

Koko knows what you really mean.

You won't lose me, I promise.

“So,” he sniffs, clapping his wings together. “I'm guessing we have some tail to kick, right?”

You scoop up your bag, checking to make sure all the contents are still present, and slip it on with a hard nod, “Right. But we have to kick it softly, this is still Ollie's tail we're talking about.”

The kwami, while not very big on the idea, agrees. Understandably so, considering he had to watch his closest friend be carried off who knows where, helpless to do anything. He'll probably be a little sore about it for the next couple days or so.

“Okay Kokie, wings up!”

~*~

In the five minutes it takes you to fly back towards the fight Paris seems to have transformed into Willie Wonka's worst nightmare.

Golden syrup coats the city and a large number of her citizens who all cry out to you as you pass over. Guilt weighs heavily on your chest, but you keep flying. The only way to help all of them is to defeat Sweet Tooth, so that's what you're going to do.

Speaking of which, looks like you've finally caught up to the party.

You're not surprised to find Ladybug fighting the akumatized shop owner alone, her partner struggling in his sticky restraints. Chat's entire torso is covered in goo, his back pressed flat against a brick wall and his arms trapped beside his head.

You groan, fighting the urge to throw your hands up. Honestly, was this boy always in trouble?

Sweet, having heard your noise of frustration, pauses her battle to wave her scepter at you, “Well look who finally decided to show up! Lady Swan, right?”

You cross your arms, grumbling, “I'm a dove actually. Ivory Dove to be exact.”

Sweet raises her hands, apologetic, “Oh, pardon me then. It's lovely to meet you, Ms. Ivory Dove.”

It's difficult to bow in mid-air, but you manage to make it work, “Please, call me Ivory.”

“Excuse me?!” you both look down to find Ladybug, hands on her hips and foot tapping rapidly. “Are the introductions out of the way yet? Can we get back to the fight?”

“Jeesh, so impatient,” Sweet huffs, rolling her eyes. “If you're so eager to get this over with why don't you just hand over your miraculous already!”

Ladybug barely manages to dodge Sweet's attack, glowing syrup splattering the spot the heroine was just standing. Acting swiftly, you unsheathe your spear, charging the akumatized villain before she can recharge her attack.

Weapons clash, spear against spoon, and in most cases your spear should have won the exchange easily. This was not one of those cases. Sweet overpowers you, shoving against your defenses with a force that knocks you from the sky.

Your back hits the roof first, knocking the wind right out of you. In the absence of coherent thought instincts kick in, your hand catching on the tile and pushing you into a flip. Your feet slide back a bit when you land, but they keep you standing steady.

You're just about to lunge for your spear, which you had lost in the crash, when you hear a sheepish, “A little help here?”

Chat uses what little mobility his current restraints allow him to shrug, palms facing up in a silent plead. Looking between the cat vigilante and the spotted heroine, who is once again facing the villain alone, you falter.

Ladybug jumps away from Sweet, taking a moment to catch her breath and meet your eye. Seemingly having sensed your inner conflict she flicks her head towards her cat companion, a single command in the action.

Help him.

You give a brief nod, turning back just as Sweet launches another assault on her current opponent. You rush to Chat's aid, his shoulders sagging with relief, “Finally, I was beginning to think I'd be stuck here forever.”

You chuckle, grasping one of his hands in both of yours, “What I want to know is how you keep getting yourself in these sticky situations.”

Chat attempts another shrug, “I guess you could say I'm attached to trouble.”

You give a firm tug, grunting from the effort while he winces, but he doesn't budge. With a huff you drop his hand, stepping back to look at him fully.

“Hey now, you're not just giving up are you? Don't leave me hanging here,” he wiggles his feet, his toes nearly brushing the ground.

He smiles nervously, actually afraid you'll leave him to dangle there. You smirk and raise your palms so they hover over his chest, “Come on cat, have a lick of faith why don't ya?”

You slap your hands down, the goop jiggling from the impact, and they stick. Chat gaps, confused and bewildered, “What was that for? Now we're both stuck!”

He starts as you spread your wings out fully, taken back by how large the white appendages actually are. You grin, throwing him a wink, “What I'd say about faith?”

You give a strong flap as emphasis, your hands keeping you tethered to the boy. Your arms, which were never meant to be used as rope, strain with each beat of your wings. The additional strength, however, is worth it.

Chat's sugary bonds make an awful sucking noise as you peel them off slowly, the process probably just as painful for him as it is you. Several excruciating seconds later Chat's knees and up are free, giving him the ability to move his upper body.

Sweet does not share in the celebration of this small victory, if her furious shouts are anything to go by, “Get away from there!”

You look back in time to see her swing her scepter, a huge stream of glowing syrup aimed directly at you. Eyes wide and panic coursing through your veins, you put all your energy into three more powerful flaps.

One.

That terrible suction sound is overlapped by Chat's strangled cries, his clenched teeth doing nothing to conceal them.

Two.

You ignore the throbbing in your arms and heart. It kills you to hear him in such pain, but you're nearly there.

Three.

A loud pop signifies his freedom. A disgusting squelching signifies your entrapment.

“Ivory!” Chat, having sprang to a safe distance upon being released, returns to your side. “Are you okay?”

Your cheek rubs against the rough brick as you speak, “Yeah, I'm good. Uncomfortable, but good.”

Your words, albeit muffled, cause the tension in his shoulders to drain. Uncomfortable is better than hurt, he could live with uncomfortable.

The entirety of your right wing glistens under the translucent glue, trapping you to the same wall Chat had just been imprisoned on. Your face is squashed to the irritating material, arms between your body and the building, and hands still stuck in the syrup from before.

You huff, pouting at your predicament. Chat scratches the back of his head, not entirely sure what to do. He raises his palms toward you, “Here, let me...”

“No!” you snap and he snatches his hands back. “You'll just get stuck too. Go help Lady, I'll be fine!”

Chat waves his arms, but any protest he had dies on his tongue as Lady's pained yell breaches the conversation. Out of your peripheral you spot Lady struggling to her feet in a cloud of dust. Sweet cackles above her, weapon poised to strike.

“My Lady!” Chat shouts in distress, immediately leaping in to protect her.

You can only watch, once again helpless to do anything, as Lady and Chat take on the corrupted Ollie. At times you can't even do that, your limited field of vision preventing you from seeing the majority of the battlefield.

You growl, frustrated, and push against the wall using your only mobile wing. It's proves to be useless, you don't move an inch. You kick your legs, wiggle your arms, and even try using your forehead to push off the building, but nothing works.

A guttural noise of rage bubbles up from your throat. Your left wing smacks the building in response to your anger, the appendage flailing frantically.

Wait.

If you could move your arms you would've smacked yourself. Why hadn't you thought of using your special attack sooner?

You're not sure if it'll work, what with one of your wings being trapped, but there's no harm in trying. You take a deep breath, mentally crossing your fingers.

“Pillow Fight!”

Your wings begin glowing upon your command, the layer of syrup on your right wing doing nothing to mask the blinding white light. The light continues to build in intensity, and once at its peak, explodes into a cloud of bright feathers.

The syrup keeping you pressed to the wall slackens and finally breaks, dropping you to the ground. You twist around, smirking when you catch the infuriated glare of Sweet and the impressed stares of Chat and Lady.

You hold your conjoined arms beside you, the large plume of feathers swirling in the space before your palms. And because you're never one to pass up a perfect opportunity, you taunt, “How's this for desert?!”

You click your tongue and thrust your hands out, the waves of feathers shooting forth towards their target. It's not as easy to control them with your arms still glued together, you can only move them in one direction, but your attack works all the same.

The tornado of feathers surrounds Sweet, acting similar to a smoke screen and cutting off her vision and muffling her hearing. “What is this?!” Sweet screams, failing to shake the quills. “Let me out of here!”

She tries to escape by flying up, but you keep your hands aligned with her, the tornado following.

Your eyes don't stray from your prisoner, brow scrunched in concentration, as you speak to your fellow miraculous users, “I'm going to give you an opening, but we won't have much time. Whatever you're going to do, do it fast!”

“Right!” they agree in unison, exchanging plans amongst themselves too quiet for you to hear.

Chat crouches down, staff poised in front of him, and Ladybug situates herself a few steps behind him. She gives you a sharp nod, signaling that she was ready, and you swiftly throw your arms down.

Your feathers no longer swarm Sweet, instead churning like a dormant hurricane below, and Ladybug acts before the akumatized villain can gather her bearings.

She dashes forward and plants her feet on Chat's back, knees bent, and launches herself into the air. Once her momentum starts waning Chat activates his weapon, the staff extending rapidly and connecting with the back of Lady's foot, giving her that extra boost.

Sweet gasps, eyes blown wide as Lady soars towards her, and raises her scepter to block. But Lady is faster, hitting her in the chest and ripping something from the fabric there. Clutching tightly to her prize, Lady flicks her other wrist, her yo-yo wrapping around a nearby streetlamp and allowing her to swing to safety.

Sweet pats her chest rapidly, heart dropping when she fails to find what she's searching for, “Y-You-”

The spotted heroine turns, standing proudly on her perch and displaying her open palm with a triumphant smirk. In it glistens a golden rectangle, a name tag.

Lady takes the name tag in both her hands and Sweet panics, making a mad dive for the vigilante. She doesn't make it in time, a sickening 'crack' resounding from the tag as Lady snaps it down the middle.

Everything after that happens in quick succession. A black butterfly emerges from the broken name tag, Sweet stutters mid-air, surrounded by the same blinding light that engulfed her in the alley way.

And then the light's gone and an unconscious Ollie is plummeting down. You nearly jump off the building after her, but stop yourself when you remember you no longer have your wings. One of the few cons to using an attack like Pillow Fight, no more wings until the next time you transform.

Luckily Chat is there to catch her, holding her in much the same fashion he did you, and dropping to the streets below. Red and white colors briefly pass over the battle field, repairing any and all damage caused by the fight, and you spot Lady waving goodbye to a now purified butterfly.

You cup your mouth, waving to catch her attention with your free hand before she can hop down to join Chat, “Hey! You mind giving this flightless bird a lift?”

Lady smiles, twirling her yo-yo with her index finger, “Sure.”

A flick of her wrist later, her weapon curls securely around your waist. You barely get a startled noise pass your lips before she's yanking you forward. Your heart jumps to your throat for a moment, and then she has you snug at her side, a cheeky look on her face.

Your head spins, but you manage to chirp back a playful reply, “Man, you keep doing that and I just might fall for you instead.”

She stares at you, not completely sure what you mean and you think it's probably for the best.

Lady gently lowers the both of you to the ground just as Chat helps Ollie to her feet, fingers held to her temple. Ollie groans, nose scrunched, “God... What happened? How did I get here?”

Lady approaches her, offering the unharmed name tag, “It's a long story, but what matters now is you're okay and the city's safe.”

Ollie accepts the item, mumbling a confused and slightly awed thank you. Must be a Ladybug fan. She then turns to you and you swear there are stars in her eyes,”You-You're-”

You straighten, chest buffed out with pride as you anticipate her praise. “You're Lady Swan!”

You can practically hear the sound of your ego deflating, shoulders slouching in defeat. Chat bursts into laughter, doubling over and clutching at his stomach. Lady snorts, quickly hiding her smile behind her palm, but a few giggles still manage to squeeze between her fingers.

Ollie glances between the trio of heroes, confused, and you clap her shoulder with a dejected sigh, “It's, uh, it's not Lady Swan.”

Trying to gather your dignity, you announce confidently, “I'm Ivory Dove, forever at your service.”

You finish your introduction with a graceful bow, an obnoxious beeping startling you out of your suave front. The majority of your feather charm is silver, only the very tip shines gold, meaning it's about time to wrap up the pleasantries.

“Guess that's my cue,” you say nonchalantly, covering up your internal meltdown. Usually you have a glorious set of wings to help with your dramatic exit, but considering they're currently missing in action you have no idea how you're going to get away in time.

Before you turn to make a less than dignified sprint for the nearest alley, you pause beside Lady and tilt your head towards Ollie, “Make sure she gets back safe, okay?”

Lady fixes you with a look you choose to ignore and nods slowly, “Yeah, of course.”

Satisfied, you throw a dazzling grin to Ollie over your shoulder, “Well, it's been a blast, but it seems the schedule of a hero is always busy. Stay cool...”

For old times’ sake, you squint at the name tag still held in her hand, “Ollie.”

With a wink and your usual flourish, you twirl on your heel, making a mad dash for the small gap between two neighboring buildings as your miraculous blares aggressively at you.

You slip through the space oblivious to the emerald eyes that follow you.

You've barely made it a block away when your charm gives one final beep of warning before dropping your disguise completely. Petals of white light evaporate to reveal your civilian clothes in place of Ivory's white and silver bodysuit.

You're instantly cradling the exhausted kwami the moment he's expelled from your necklace, rubbing his temple comfortingly, “Kokie? You okay?”

Concern swells in your chest for the small bird who groans a response.

It remains a mystery to both you and Koko why the transformations take such a toll on him. As far as you understood it, a kwami's entire purpose is for a miraculous transformation. It’s been explained to you by the dove himself that it's natural for a kwami to experience fatigue post-transformation, but not even he seems to know why it has such a drastic effect on him.

You're just paraphrasing of course, Koko would never delve that far into his lack of knowledge or emotions on the subject, but you've become quiet skilled at reading between his lines. He's confused, concerned, and maybe just a little bit self-conscious, but continues to disregard your worries.

Like now, for example, he pushes feebly against your finger, “Yeah, yeah, just swell.”

You're unconvinced considering he can't even muster the strength to open his eyes, “I don't know if I believe that, you're not looking so hot.”

He scoffs, attempting to take off into the air by flapping his wings, “Please, I always look smokin' and you know it. Just give me a box of raisins and a couple hours of sleep and I'll be dandy in no time.”

His wings don't carry him far, maybe an inch off your palm, before dropping him down with a wince, “...Okay, make that two boxes and a whole day and I'll be fine in sometime.”

You manage a small chuckle, “Sure thing hot-shot, I'll even pick up brand raisins on the way home.”

How long it'll take to get home from your current unknown location, you're not sure, but you decide to pick a direction that looks vaguely familiar and hope for the best. You bring the kwami close to your chest, one hand supporting him and the other sheltering him from prying eyes, and begin to walk.

Koko gives a quiet, playful gasp, “The brand kind? You spoil me rotten.”

Leaning down you smooth your smiling lips over his tiny head in a delicate kiss, “I try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the longest chapter so far and it might be the last. Sorry guys, I've completely run out of steam on this project. I just don't have the motivation or energy to work on this at the moment, I might never have the inspiration to finish this. I have the skeleton of the story in mind, I just don't know or feel like getting it there. Again I'm sorry guys, I'm going on hiatus for a while. Maybe forever. Sigh, sorry to everyone who stuck with me through this, trust me, it sucks abandoning a project nearly as much as reading a project that'll never be complete. Anyway, I should go. Bye guys and thank you so much for everything you've done for me. Love ya.

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly discontinued! Sorry!
> 
> Koko and Ivory Dove are my personal characters, heavily inspired by Skyward (Chat Noir/Adrien Agreste x Hero!Reader) by Korbya on Quotev.


End file.
